Maybe There's A Chance
by TimelordFromErebor
Summary: A mysterious Elven warrior confronts Thorin in the Prancing Pony, asking to join him on his quest to reclaim Erebor. After more than a little commotion and confrontation, he agrees. What happens next? Well, we shall see...


The Prancing Pony was the epicentre of social encounters in Bree. The townsfolk gathered around the bar and made their fun however they wished, swapping tales and names, and drinking beyond their fill. The corners of the common room would often be sparsely occupied by rangers and vagabonds, who would observe the room; some with curiosity, others with mistrust, or a malevolent gaze. The outer tables, near the fireplace, were generally occupied by travellers in need of a hearty meal and a bed softer than the dirt they were accustomed to.

On this particular occasion, one of the travellers sitting by the fireplace was a dwarf. This was not all that unusual, for dwarves regularly passed through Bree while journeying to mountains other than their own. What was unusual was the identity of this dwarf. His name was Thorin Oakenshield, and he was a king.

* * *

As Thorin sat eating his meal, he glanced up and saw two dishevelled, sinister men rising from their seats in the corners to either side of him. As the glint of his blade became visible in the glow of the fire, an unkempt man cloaked all in grey took the seat opposite Thorin, and the vagabonds abandoned their efforts to approach him.

In the corner of the inn, alongside the wild men smoking their pipes, sat a small, cloaked figure, watching the dwarf and his companion. The two sat talking, sometimes in quite an animated fashion, for near an hour before the man departed, leaving Thorin alone with his watcher the once more.

* * *

As Thorin sat, drink in hand, contemplating all that had been said by the wizard, another body filled the chair facing him. The dwarf clasped the hilt of his sword once again, preparing for the seemingly inevitable attack, but it did not come. In the place of a challenge, words were given.

"Excuse me, but I believe I can be of some service to you. I wish to join you on your quest." Thorin stared in shock, his hand still firmly grasped on his sword. The speaker knew of a conversation he had partaken in not thirty minutes prior and was not one of the vagabonds that had fled making a second attempt, but a woman.

"How do you know about that?" Thorin spoke in a demanding tone, implying that voices would have been raised significantly, had they not been in such a public place. "Are you a friend to that troublesome wizard? He did not mention you."

"Mithr- Gandalf is known to most, albeit by many names. I would not call him a friend, but I do hold claim to knowing him better than most," the woman said warily, making sure not to be overheard. "He alerted me of his intentions to approach you about a quest, to reclaim Erebor. It is of some," she paused, "personal interest to me."

"Personal interest," exclaimed Thorin, his voice rising slightly. The woman made an urgent gesture for the dwarf to lower his voice, for their somewhat vivid conversation was beginning to draw attention from the townsfolk. Thorin glared at the woman, or rather her nose, for her eyes were shielded by the hood of the cloak she wore. "You, a woman from Mahal knows where, speaks to me of my homeland and claims to have a _personal interest_!" The last few words were growled rather than spoken, and there was a new harshness to his voice.

"That is correct," replied the woman impatiently, "and I would appreciate it if you would refrain from raising your voice again." She drew back her cloak, lifting the shadow from her features, revealing every detail under the soft light of the fire.

Thorin's mouth opened slightly, not knowing how to react to the sight before him. His expression shifted from one of shock to barely contained rage in seconds, the intensity of his glare frightening the woman to whom he directed it at.

"You're a spy," his words were spat with a passion and a poison, "for that filth who calls himself a king! He sent you to sabotage this quest before it begins, to keep my people from reclaiming their homeland. I will not allow that to happen, not again!" People were staring now, baffled by the bizarre scene unfolding before them. Murmurs spread across the room as sleeves were pulled, and fingers were pointed. There were queer folk in town. A dwarf, and what they could only assume to be… an elf.

"I assure you, none of that is true, but perhaps we should go to someplace more private before I explain. There's a price on your head, the less people talk, the better." Thorin gave a cynical laugh under his breath.

"You expect me to stay and talk to you? Nothing but lies have left your lips from the moment they parted." He rose from his seat, raised his hood, and began towards the door. The woman grabbed his arm and hissed into his ear, in as subtle a manner as could be managed.

"Those men will be waiting outside. Whether or not you want to consider my request, it would be in your best interest to accompany me." She steered him towards the uneven staircase near the corner she had been seated in. "I have a room, you can stay there for the night, or at least until it is safe." He gave a reluctant sigh, and let himself be led. The elf could feel Thorin's glare piercing through the fabric of their cloaks, burning right through her, but on they walked.

* * *

Thorin slammed the door as he passed through, ripping his arm from the grip of the woman. She took a deep breath and gritted her teeth, preparing for another arrogant outburst from her dwarven companion, but it did not come. He simply walked across the room, removed his cloak, and sat down, still glaring.

"Go ahead," Thorin demanded, "explain." He continued to glare at her, but now there was a renewed curiosity that he couldn't quite hide.

"I am not here for Thranduil." Thorin hissed at the mention of the elf king's name. "In fact, I hate him, maybe as much as you." Thorin cut her off before she could continue.

"Don't try and play to my favours, it won't work. You know what he did, and no matter _what_ he has done to you, my hatred is stronger." The woman clenched her teeth to keep from exploding, and nodded, not wanting to add yet another topic to the argument.

"That may be, but I assure you I do hate him. I lived in The Woodland Realm as a child. I gave up my home to get away from his... toxicity." She stared at the ground, lost in memory for a few minutes before looking up and continuing. "I grew up near the mountain and was always fascinated with it. I would dream of what it must've been like before the dragon came. _That_ is what I meant when I spoke of personal interest. Gandalf and I both spend our lives roaming the Wild, helping people where we can. We have known each other for a long time. Well, I have known him for a long time..." Her sentence trailed off, explanations involving wizards were not explanations at all unless they were given by the wizard in question.

"You were right in your imaginings of Erebor, if they were grander by a tenfold. I doubt any other place in Middle Earth could rival the beauty of the halls of Erebor, except perhaps the halls of Moria, before they were defiled by goblins…" Thorin trailed off, refocusing after his train of thought had been disrupted by memories of his home. "If I do agree, we will discover your connection with the wizard soon enough. He will be able to tell me if you are a spy." Thorin pondered the new information aloud so that the woman would know she was not yet trusted. The woman ceased her small-room attempt at pacing and sat down on the bed, which dipped at her touch. The two sat in silence, for a while before Thorin spoke again. "Why did you not introduce yourself when you first approached me?" The question caught the elf off guard and she faltered momentarily.

"Um… It didn't come up?" The previously cool, calm, and confident woman spoke in an uncertain manner, for she had no excuse. "I was waiting for you to ask, in all honesty, I was wondering how long it would take… My name is Elena." The woman squirmed uncomfortably in her seat, because of the situation or the quality of the mattress, no one knows.

"Elena?" Thorin said, with a ring of familiarity in his voice. He had heard the name before.

"What is it?" Elena asked sharply, for she had noticed the shift in Thorin's demeanour. "Does even my name offend you?"

"No. I believe Gandalf may have mentioned you, in passing…" Thorin answered, but his focus was obviously engulfed by his memories, rather than the conversation at hand. He shook his head slightly and then continued. "Perhaps you are telling the truth. But know that you have not yet earned my trust. If you answer my questions and agree to my terms, you will need to sign a contract to prove it. You are an elf, and whoever joins me on this quest will not trust you either, we have suffered at the hands of your people for too long."

"Tell me your terms, unless they are outrageous, I will agree. And please don't forget that Elves were not responsible for the banishment of your people, it was Smaug. Thranduil should have helped, I will not deny, but his soldiers were only following orders. If they had not… well, I would not wish the wrath of Thranduil upon anyone." The mood of the room had switched. Elena was frustrated and annoyed, but Thorin was finally willing to cooperate.

"Do not mention him, or you will not be welcome to join us," Thorin said, sensing an argument that could interfere with the progress they were finally making. "I assume you can use the sword you wear?" He glanced at the scabbard hanging at her waist, its leather had been mended in so many places that he doubted there was much of the original left.

"Of course," she said, a reminiscent smile flashing across her face before she could stop it, "I'm not too shabby with my knives either." Thorin nodded in approval. Most of the dwarves he had a mind to ask upon this quest could wield a sword, but only a few were proficient enough with knives to use them in a real fight. In the Blue Mountains, there was peace, and many of the younger dwarves had never used their weapons outside of training.

"Alright, I am convinced," Thorin announced, "you can join myself, and any of my people who choose to join me, upon this quest. As I mentioned earlier, you will be required to sign a contract once the quest commences, to avoid any liabilities."

"In other words, if I die, you will not be held responsible."

"If you would like to think of it that way. I suggest you read it before making a final decision as to whether or not you want to come. It will dangerous, I doubt everyone that is alive when we set off will still be when we reclaim the mountain."

"My mind is already made. I was the one who approached you, remember? Where will we be setting off from? Surely Gandalf would have proposed a place."

"Indeed he did, although it makes no sense to me. He has decided that we shall set off from Bag End, in Hobbiton, from the home of a halfling. A halfling that he wants to bring along as a burglar, of all things!" Thorin exclaimed. He knew little of hobbits, apart from their tendency to stay in The Shire, and that they played no important role in the running of Middle Earth.

"A halfling?" Elena asked in disbelief, as she repositioned herself on the edge of the mattress. "What was his reasoning?"

"He claimed that hobbits, as he calls them, are light are on their feet." Elena huffed in annoyance, leaning forward slightly onto her arms. "Would you disagree?"

"I don't know much of halflings, but I would agree. However, they're light-footedness could not rival that of an elf." She paused with her mouth slightly open, as if she were about to speak, then closed it. "I suppose that the combination of the abilities of halflings, and the fact that their scent would be unknown to Smaug, _is_ a... unique advantage."

"As troublesome as Gandalf is, I trust his judgement. After all, he had no way of knowing that I would accept you as a companion, and having a halfling could prove useful," Thorin said, doubtfully.

"You don't seem convinced."

"The hobbit he mentioned, Bilbo Baggins, doesn't seem like the sort to leave The Shire."

"I don't think there would be many halflings that would be suited to the job if any. From what I hear, Gandalf if quite fond of Shirefolk, and as you said yourself, I trust his judgement. I may not trust him to tell the whole truth, but in matters such as this, I would trust him to make the right choice."

"We shall see," Thorin replied under his breath, "we shall see…"


End file.
